Post by evangeline on Jun 10, 2011 22:14:19 GMT -5
Name: Evangeline Rosa Calixtus
Age: 3
Gender: Female
Breed: Shagya Arabian
Height: 15.1hh
Coat Color: Rose grey.
Mane/tail Color: black, red & flaxen.
Eye Color: Grey.
Markings: Dapple.
Alignment: Neutral.
Personality: There is always a courteous dream to every action she partakes. Always an ethereal undertone to each whisper and charm that pours from her curved lips, that satisfies the mood to the point of sedation. She speaks of witchery and love, so bold to taunt her curling tongue into pronouncing voracious syllables hungry of any affection due. Yet the cold always follows, something dark and prolonged that matches the silence to trail her soft lull. She could live without your attention, prosper without your romance, and kill without your strength. She is independent and graceful as any woman should be, superior to any amount of begging or covetous desires. If ever the fatal chance of adoration should fall over her senses, she is secretive and possessive to the point of deadly attraction, though never succumbs to being owned by any male. A diehard will sets her in motion for power, always steadily climbing to the heavy heart of hierarchy she so seeks fit. Yet she will never accept recognition she feels she does not deserve, and will fight alone for what she desires. If ever an obstacle presents itself in her path of heady ambition it will be consumed and ravaged for the destructive vigor she withholds. There will always be a threat, and always consequence. However her warfare is tasteful and chivalrous - she refuses to lie as low as the cowardly traitors who squabble and bite the hand that feeds. She is always respectful of whatever opponent at hand, no matter how much respect if none at all is returned.
History:
Here in the solace of dusk broke the lingering spice of floral grace, the balm of midnight incense that fell in flutter of lofty footsteps in their gentle drum across the moist ground. The supernatural sound caught to the wispy limbs of a slender dame, pressed in the ethereal sway of her delicate rounded hips. She moved swift and elegant, admirable in the venereal mince of gliding prance to decline the rocky face at ease. Her every step was marked by a paranormal flit of divine decorum, passed as a shade beneath the lucid glow that lit to her luxurious coat in the flare of radiance. Demure and so timid she had found ground beneath the soft bearing of her long, svelte legs and in following her sensuous curved body caressed the flaunt of her flared tail. The air carried her lightly and brought her to the bubbling shore, til the water splashed and rummaged over the slim gaunt of her ankles and poured in each rippling step. Her muzzle dipped to the surface of the flowing waters and drank gingerly the ether from illuminated hydro, the mist of the thunderous falls pulling a veil about her doe lashes and sifted against the tender flux of her sinuous muscles. Soft and quiet she enjoyed the peace, contentment washed across her features in a fastidious smile that hung as delicate as the vapors that clasped to her salacious bod. And there it clung still as she set deeper into the pools, dove into the shallow depths to wash their tidal across her shimmering coat. She bathed in seraphic calm til she had washed what filth that had remained from her polished pelt, and pulled herself to the shore to shake the excess from her lithe countenance. And what elegance marked that night in the taintless breath of perfection, by what seconds could only fall at last exchange for blow, captivated her soul in that moment even in the lecherous world that preyed on such sheepish naivety. That she, in the deranged sense of innocence twisted, was by deceit such a lamb to their ill judgment. So she allowed, and so she permitted by their fault the inevitable penance for such terrible ideals. “You shouldn't evade the light so poorly, dear. The shade could mistake you for a coward.” Haunting tones drifted from the still heart of prose, for those watchful eyes that sought her in the dark. She spoke as if to the water then, but turned her lustrous eyes to the shadows that crept in gnarled guile – the prime suspect of which her words would seek like daggers to a bare neck.
Age: 3
Gender: Female
Breed: Shagya Arabian
Height: 15.1hh
Coat Color: Rose grey.
Mane/tail Color: black, red & flaxen.
Eye Color: Grey.
Markings: Dapple.
Alignment: Neutral.
Personality: There is always a courteous dream to every action she partakes. Always an ethereal undertone to each whisper and charm that pours from her curved lips, that satisfies the mood to the point of sedation. She speaks of witchery and love, so bold to taunt her curling tongue into pronouncing voracious syllables hungry of any affection due. Yet the cold always follows, something dark and prolonged that matches the silence to trail her soft lull. She could live without your attention, prosper without your romance, and kill without your strength. She is independent and graceful as any woman should be, superior to any amount of begging or covetous desires. If ever the fatal chance of adoration should fall over her senses, she is secretive and possessive to the point of deadly attraction, though never succumbs to being owned by any male. A diehard will sets her in motion for power, always steadily climbing to the heavy heart of hierarchy she so seeks fit. Yet she will never accept recognition she feels she does not deserve, and will fight alone for what she desires. If ever an obstacle presents itself in her path of heady ambition it will be consumed and ravaged for the destructive vigor she withholds. There will always be a threat, and always consequence. However her warfare is tasteful and chivalrous - she refuses to lie as low as the cowardly traitors who squabble and bite the hand that feeds. She is always respectful of whatever opponent at hand, no matter how much respect if none at all is returned.
History:
Here in the solace of dusk broke the lingering spice of floral grace, the balm of midnight incense that fell in flutter of lofty footsteps in their gentle drum across the moist ground. The supernatural sound caught to the wispy limbs of a slender dame, pressed in the ethereal sway of her delicate rounded hips. She moved swift and elegant, admirable in the venereal mince of gliding prance to decline the rocky face at ease. Her every step was marked by a paranormal flit of divine decorum, passed as a shade beneath the lucid glow that lit to her luxurious coat in the flare of radiance. Demure and so timid she had found ground beneath the soft bearing of her long, svelte legs and in following her sensuous curved body caressed the flaunt of her flared tail. The air carried her lightly and brought her to the bubbling shore, til the water splashed and rummaged over the slim gaunt of her ankles and poured in each rippling step. Her muzzle dipped to the surface of the flowing waters and drank gingerly the ether from illuminated hydro, the mist of the thunderous falls pulling a veil about her doe lashes and sifted against the tender flux of her sinuous muscles. Soft and quiet she enjoyed the peace, contentment washed across her features in a fastidious smile that hung as delicate as the vapors that clasped to her salacious bod. And there it clung still as she set deeper into the pools, dove into the shallow depths to wash their tidal across her shimmering coat. She bathed in seraphic calm til she had washed what filth that had remained from her polished pelt, and pulled herself to the shore to shake the excess from her lithe countenance. And what elegance marked that night in the taintless breath of perfection, by what seconds could only fall at last exchange for blow, captivated her soul in that moment even in the lecherous world that preyed on such sheepish naivety. That she, in the deranged sense of innocence twisted, was by deceit such a lamb to their ill judgment. So she allowed, and so she permitted by their fault the inevitable penance for such terrible ideals. “You shouldn't evade the light so poorly, dear. The shade could mistake you for a coward.” Haunting tones drifted from the still heart of prose, for those watchful eyes that sought her in the dark. She spoke as if to the water then, but turned her lustrous eyes to the shadows that crept in gnarled guile – the prime suspect of which her words would seek like daggers to a bare neck.
